


- pronounced -

by mayachain



Category: Skuggserien | The Shadow Series - Maria Gripe
Genre: Family Issues, Gen, Post-Canon, Recovery, Triple Drabble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-01
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-09-11 17:09:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 303
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8999524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mayachain/pseuds/mayachain
Summary: By saving her mother, Rosilda had recovered her voice.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AuroraCloud](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AuroraCloud/gifts).



> Dear **AuroraCloud** ,
> 
> you asked for Stenstierna family relationship, and I hope these little aftermath tidbits are to your liking.
> 
> Happy (belated) Yuletide,  
> \- a nyr author

I.

Ever so gradually, Rosilda Falck af Stenstierna was becoming accustomed to using her voice again. It was still rough and her throat hurt when she talked for too long. The doctor was confident that she would be past this point of transition soon. 

At times, she flinched from the sound of it – at times _Arild_ flinched from the sound of it.

Sometimes Rosilda was entirely convinced that she never wanted to write another word ever again. Other times she thought that she might find joy in passing notes and short letters now that those were no longer her only option. 

 

II.

Arild adored to hear his sister’s voice, loved the sound of dear Rosilda expressing her thoughts aloud, rejoiced that she could now begin a conversation with him while she was yet in another room. _Sing_.

Arild was fond of his sister’s voice. It was _natural_ to miss someone’s voice, and he had never quite forgotten its timbre before she had lost it, had missed it dearly for most of their lives.

How odd was it, then, to wish for the sight of a person’s handwriting? To find oneself missing the quiet _scratch-scratch_ of one’s sister committing her thoughts to paper?

 

III.

In the months since she had come back into their lives, Lydia’s elder children had conversed with her often. Yet every time they were all three together, she was aware that there were entire dialogues held over her head that were never spoken.

There was such a wealth of meaning the twins could express between them in a single glance, with a single touch. 

For all the times Lydia had watched her son and daughter from the shadows, and for all that she could openly watch now – it was a language she could never hope to even begin to learn.

 

.


End file.
